


Can't Buy Me Love

by ptgreat



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6867706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptgreat/pseuds/ptgreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Broke and single, Bruce knows he's in over his head the second he's handed the Graysons' (messy, noisy, perfect) infant son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Groceries in one arm and Dick in the other, squirming and wailing, his small face scrunched up and pink, Bruce struggled to tug his apartment keys out of his pocket without dropping the eggs, again. Even before the grocery shopping had been half done, Dick had been tired and hungry—he’d missed his afternoon nap and still hated drinking his formula, stubbornly rooting and whimpering and refusing to take the bottle. Bruce had staved off the bulk of the crying with bouncing and tickles and raspberries but there was no pacifying Dick now. The four-month-old screamed, probably disturbing all of his neighbors and maintaining Bruce’s position as most annoying tenant in the old Kyle Building. He rocked back on his heels and shushed, as soothing a rumble as he could, but then cursed as one of the bags slipped. Come on, come on, where were those damn keys? Dick gurgled happily suddenly, a little hiccup with his cut off crying. Bruce glanced over his shoulder at Dick’s distraction as the baby made a grab for whatever was behind him. Mr. Pennyworth, who lived across from Bruce and usually brought cookies to the monthly tenant meetings, smiled, a shiny quarter in his hand that he held pinched between his thumb and index finger.

“No, no, dear boy. Can’t let you have the coin. You might do something silly like try to eat it.”

He would, Bruce thought with a sigh. Baby proofing the apartment was still an ongoing process. He didn’t remember Damian being such a hazard to himself, but then Talia had done the heavy lifting there. A little slight of hand and the coin disappeared and, “oh my how did this get behind your father’s ear?” Dick giggled, trying to catch the man’s hand.

Bruce reddened slightly, “I’m not his father. I, his parents, well.”

“I rather think he’ll disagree with you, but as you say,” Mr. Pennyworth said, and reached out, “If you don’t mind?”

“Yes—no, I mean I don’t. Yes, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

The older man relieved him of his squirmy burden who was all too happy to change venues, freeing an arm for Bruce to finally find his keys.

“No need for such formality,” he said, tucking Dick into the crook of his arm, teasing the tiny boy with a wiggle of his fingers and boop to the nose. “Alfred will do well enough.”

Bruce grimaced a bit in apology as Dick finally caught the man’s hand and promptly began gumming a bent knuckle, but the man seemed quite unperturbed.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Keys at last freed from his pocket, Bruce opened the door and, unsure, made room for the man to come inside.

“I could make some tea?” Bruce said, what was the proper etiquette for this kind of thing anyways?

Alfred’s warm eyes crinkled, mirth and teasing lighting them up, “I’m quite sure you would try.”

Bruce smiled, guilty as charged, “Maybe you could walk me through it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For deepaapatel's prompts: What is the Batfam thankful for during Thanksgiving? and Dick’s first Thanksgiving without his parents?

“Dick. Baby,” Bruce coaxed from the kitchen doorway. “Not so close to the tv.”

The toddler looked over his shoulder at Bruce, practically hugging the television, but he was too enamored with the brightly decorated floats and massive balloons passing by on the screen to pay the man much mind. Bruce sighed. Wiping his damp hands off on his shirt, he strode into the room and scooped the child up into his arms.

“No, no, no!” Dick shrieked, which was a switch because his favorite word was actually yes.

He twisted and Bruce sucked in a breath, nearly dropping him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he told him. “You want to watch then you have to sit on the couch.”

“No!”

Ah. So. New favorite word apparently. Dammit. Yes was so much more manageable.

“Well I guess the tv can just go off then.”

Dick went quiet for a moment, thoughtful, even though he was still squirming for freedom.

“Floor?” his little voice said hopefully.

He probably shouldn’t be bargaining with him. Bruce was pretty sure at least one of the many, many parenting books he’d read said bargaining was bad. But. He blew a raspberry behind Dick’s ear and the little boy squealed with delight, limbs flailing.

“You get any closer than the coffee table and I turn it off,” he said firmly, setting him down.

“Yes Daddy,” Dick said solemnly, staring up at him with big blue eyes.

Bruce swallowed hard, denial caught in the back of his throat. But then there’s was a short rap on the door and he straightened up to let in their latest arrivals. Alfred had arrived first thing that morning to make sure Bruce didn’t sabotage the meal with good intentions, but they were still expecting a few more guests.

“Jim,” he greeted with a genuine smile. “Glad you could make it.”

The older man smiled right back, little Babs, her hair done up in pigtails with yellow ribbons, holding one hand while the other held a plastic wrapped plate of homemade cookies.

“They’re snickerdoodles,” Babs chirped. “I helped make them.”

Barbara, a bit frazzled but happy enough, and holding James Jr. in on her hip, pat the girl on the head fondly.

“And such good help you were.”

He stepped back, letting the family in. Dick made a big ruckus welcoming Babs and the plate of cookies. Bruce’s “After the meal, Dick” followed by a short bout of pouting, but he was quickly teased out of it by Jim stealing his nose. Standing apart from the happy setting for a moment, something tightened in Bruce’s chest. This was—this was such a far cry from last Thanksgiving, a bottle of formula for Dick that he barely let Bruce feed him and a frozen dinner for himself. And before that his Thanksgivings had been even more empty. Dick glanced over at him, a big grin on his face and toddled over his arms above his head.

“Up, up! Daddy up!”

Bruce took a deep breath through his nose, his eyes hot, and swung his son into his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: DickDamian (younger Dick with crush on Dami ) christmas cookies

Damian stared down at the tiny person his father had managed to acquire the previous year and he stared right back up at Damian, big blue eyes and mouth slightly agape.

“Tall,” he said, awestruck, then promptly held his arms out.

Alarmed, Damian shot a look at his father, who appeared to be calm except for a nervous tap of his finger to the rim of his coffee mug—an atrociously blue and red colored thing.

“He, uh, wants you to pick him up.”

“Up, up!”

Damian wrinkled his nose, “No.”

Confusion washed over the toddler’s face then a wobbly bottom lip that inspired a previously unknown horror in Damian. A high whine started in the child’s throat and grew in pitch, his face getting red and blotchy and, and leaky. Father was immediately out of his chair and lifting Richard—that was his name wasn’t it?—into his arms, shushing and cooing and being generally undignified.

“No,” Richard cried, shoving and hitting at Father’s shoulders, then shriller. “No!”

Damian winced, looking around for something, anything to shut it up. A plate of gingerbread men, a combination of neatly and messily decorated and far too unburnt to be Father’s doing, sat in the middle of the table. Choosing one of the ugliest cookies, a red blob on the edible man’s chest, Damian stuffed its head in Richard’s open mouth. The little boy’s crying died with a gurgle.

“Damian!” Bruce chastised. “You can’t just shove food in his—”

Richard lunged over him, not quite clearing Bruce’s broad shoulder, and only saved from a painful face plant by Damian catching him under his arms. Unconcerned about his near fall, Richard stared at Damian and gnawed on the cookie for a moment before pulling it out of his mouth, icing face melting. Damian made a face but pulled him the rest of the way over Bruce before he lost his grip or the child tried another badly planned act of acrobatics.

“What part of that seemed like a good idea—mmph! Blech!” Damian spat, soggy gingerbread in his mouth while Richard giggled.

He squished Damian’s cheeks with his sticky little hands and wide grin.

“Share is care!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Dick, Jay, Tim, and Dami raking leaves?

One perk to the Kyle building being so old was the huge oak tree growing in the otherwise itty bitty community courtyard. Gotham’s alley cats loved it. And every fall, Ms. Kyle would pay five whole dollars to any of the tenant kids willing to rake up the mess, which was exactly what Jason was doing while Dick not-helped, Tim, who regularly babysat them on the fly for Bruce, watched them, and a visiting Damian lounged on a rickety lawn chair to enjoy the afternoon sun with a thick bound textbook in his lap. Or he had been anyways, until he’d gotten himself into another disagreement with Damian. Dick, half-ignored them though, more focused on the satisfying crunch of brown, brittle leaves under his little boots.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Damian tipped his sunglasses down to look at Jason. “Father does not have a thing with the Kyle woman. She’s his landlord.”

“Landlady,” Dick sing-songed, grabbing an armful of leaves and tossing them in the air.

Attitude practically oozing out of his pores, Jason leaned on his too big rake and stared back at Damian, unintimidated and unimpressed.

“I thought college kids were supposed to be smart.”

Damian scowled and Tim snickered, catching Dick around the waist when the four-year-old tried to throw himself into and scatter the pile Jason had managed to make already. Dick giggled maniacally, squirming and kicking his legs. Half-tossing Dick over his shoulder, he dug his fingers into the little boy’s side and narrowly missed a foot to the face as Dick squealed.

“Play nice,” Dick called gleefully at Jason and Damian, twisted like a pretzel and trying to flip off of Tim despite the teenager’s firm hold on him.

“They’re obviously doing it,” Jason said.

“Jason!” Tim shot a look at the ten-year-old, and his grip on Dick slipped.

Dick tumbled over Tim’s shoulder onto the hard ground. For a brief, surprised moment there was complete silence, and then a loud wail filled the courtyard. Damian’s book hit the concrete with a loud thwack as he stood quickly. Tim crouched immediately next to Dick, pulling him up, horrified and apologetic. Dick hid his red, dirt smeared face, sobbing into his hands, dirty fingers in his mouth.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed until he saw the blood gleamed brightly on Dick’s bottom lip. “Shit.”

Tim tugged at Dick’s hands, trying to get a better look at the damage but Dick jerked away from him, only to fall on his butt and his crying increased painfully in pitch with the intensity of his embarrassment and the startling scare of both falls.

“I want Daddy,” Dick hiccupped through his tears.

Features twisted up with guilt, Tim pet Dick’s head with both hands, picking bits of leaves and grass out of his dark, mussed hair.

“He’s at work, kiddo.”

Dick cried, blood and spit and snot dripping down his chin. Jason, having discarded the rake, chewed on his lip and stepped closer, rubbing his upper arm.

“You want me to pick you up?”

Damian frowned but Dick sniffled and nodded before the young man could protest, lifting his arms and looking up at Jason with big watery eyes. Bracing his legs, Jason wrapped his arms around Dick’s slim torso and lifted. The smaller boy clung onto him like a little monkey, messy face hooked over Jason’s shoulder. Tim pushed up with his hands on his thighs and stepped around Jason. He wiped Dick’s face with his hoodie sleeve and tilted it upwards gently. Tim sighed. Just a minor cut inside his mouth, his lip might swell a little but not an emergency and Dick would be fine as soon as he recovered from the embarrassment, would probably be showing off his bloodied lip to Babs and Steph and Mr. Pennyworth. Jason pressed a kiss to Dick’s cheek that he turned into a raspberry. Dick giggled wetly and tried to return the favor only messier.

Damian huffed out a breath, sinking back onto his chair, “You’re all idiots.”

Jason stuck his tongue out, “And Bruce is totally doing the horizontal tango with Ms. Kyle.”

“You little—” Damian snarled.

“Oh my god, Jason,” Tim slapped a hand over his face. “Where do you even _hear_ these things?”

Dick readjusted his arms around Jason’s neck, a little more cheer in his voice and eager to participate in the conversation, “I like dancing.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For hawkstout's prompt: Dick and Damian, snow

Slow, fat snowflakes drifted downwards, thickening the white blanket that had covered Gotham overnight. Seated at the kitchen table, Damian sipped his tea, a breakfast blend his mother had specially ordered for him, and admired the ephemerally pristine scene outside, fingers itching to pick up a pencil. His father was still asleep after another long shift at Dr. Winkle’s clinic, probably with all three of his brats piled into bed with him. There was a soft rustle and Damian turned in his seat. Two of his brats then. Damian frowned as Dick smiled demurely at him, hands behind his back, sweet and small and entirely too innocent.

“What did you do?”

 “Nothing,” that sweet smile gained an edge of wickedness.

Brow arched, Damian crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to smirk. The lengths to which Dick’s deviousness, good natured mischief Pennyworth across the hall liked to call it, could go could be rather impressive and always entertaining when the little boy directed his special attentions on Drake and Drake’s ridiculous girlfriend, who last Damian had heard wasn’t actually the teen’s girlfriend anymore but still liked to help babysit.

“What are you going to do?”

Dick’s smile fell a touch and his eyes flitted to something behind Damian, “…nothing?”

Damian glanced over his shoulder. What could that boy be up—Damian shrieked, icy cold melting down his spine. He snarled, grabbing for the scruff of Dick’s neck but he danced out of reach of Damian’s grasping hand with a shrill giggle.

“Missed me! Missed me! Now you gotta kiss me!”

“Richard!”

His chair hit the floor with a bang and Dick screamed excitedly. And if that hadn’t woken the family yet, the front door bouncing off the wall behind him as Dick threw it open certainly must have. Only Damian had far more important things on his mind than disturbing anyone’s sleep. Like murdering the tricky brat currently fleeing down the hallway. Damian took off after the laughing little monster, neither one caring how many neighbors would be filing more complaints against Bruce and his hellions, the Kyle woman was far too fond of them, well maybe not Damian, and their father to actually do anything about it anyways.

“You are so dead!” Damian growled.

Dick laughed, bursting into the courtyard, feet kicking up snow, “You can’t can me, I’m the—oomph!”

Damian wrestled him to the ground, snow flying into the air like a miniature blizzard. Dick shrieked and wriggled madly but he was far too petite to move Damian, who sat on his legs and caught his wrists in one hand while he stuffed handfuls of snow up his shirt.

“What’s wrong, Richard? Don’t like the cold?”

“No!” Dick cried dramatically, kicking his feet.

“Too bad!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For writeroffates's prompt: So my headcanon is that dick can't handle too many sweets and that he gets a sick stomach from them, so jaydick, Halloween candy?

“Only two pieces before bed, Dick,” Mr. Pennyworth had said.

And Dick had nodded with a small pout, sad puppy looks could work on Daddy—and Damian, and Tim, and Jason, and sometimes Cass—but never Mr. Pennyworth, which was probably why Daddy asked Mr. Pennyworth to take them trick or treating while he was working. But Dick had also anticipated Alfred’s candy constraint and while the main bulk of his hoard was put on the kitchen counter in the bright blue plastic jack-o-lantern head he’d toted around tonight, he’d smuggled a sizable chunk of it in the folds of his super awesome ninja costume from Damian—or Miss Al Ghul, Dick wasn’t sure, Daddy had grumped about her when Damian gave it to him.

Candy wrappers everywhere, Dick whined, sprawled on his bed and very, very sorry he hadn’t followed Mr. Pennyworth’s rule. He wanted Daddy. His tummy hurt so much. He rolled and wriggled off the edge of the bed and peeked into the living room. Cass kicked her legs up and down, lying on the floor in front of the TV while Jason took up most of the couch, both of them watching the Nightmare Before Christmas. Mr. Pennyworth was probably in the kitchen. Dick shuffled to the couch and clung to the back of it to peer over at Jason. The boy turned his head.

“What’s up, Dickiebird? Besides you.”

“Is Daddy home yet?”

“He doesn’t get back until three.”

“What time is it now?”

“Nine thirty.”

Dick’s bottom lip wobbled. Jason sat up straighter and hauled him the rest of the way over the couch. Cass looked at them then back to the dancing skeleton once she’d decided Jason could handle it.

“You have a nightmare?”

Dick curled up in Jason’s lap.

“My tummy hurts,” he mumbled, moving his cheek back and forth on Jason’s fleecy Raphael pajamas.

Jason snorted but rubbed his tummy, “You ate more than two pieces, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“You clean up the evidence?”

“Not yet.”

“You’re ridiculous, Dickiebird.”

“The ridiculous-est?”

“Sure.”

Jason scooted and leaned back against the couch arm. Dick resettled, absently petting Jason’s sleeve, while the skeleton studied Christmas. His eyes drooped, stomach still aching. Jason wasn’t Daddy but he was warm and soft and _Jason_. That was pretty good.


End file.
